A Return to Normalcy
by Mari Chen
Summary: Harry's seventh year gets off to a bad start when he and Hermione find themselves trapped in the Dark Lord's stronghold. TRHG
1. Surprising and Swooning

_Title: A Return to Normalcy  
Author: Sinoka  
Rating: T  
Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance  
Pairings: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Hermione/Tom (AKA Voldemort)  
Summary: Old age is accompanied by a slew of medical complications that even the Dark Lord is not immune to. In a fit of discomfort, Voldemort finds a brilliant solution with startling consequences.  
Disclaimer: Not mine.  
A/N: There are spoilers for books 1-6 + this fic is another one of those Voldemort-rejuvenation things, so it's not too original and it's a slight AU._

**Chapter 1: Surprising and Swooning**

Even Lord Voldemort had to admit that senior citizen status had a few perks. Finally, he could walk into movies and dine in buffets at discount price. He relished the benefits saving fifty percent on every muggle-killing excursion. But sadly, his faltering age was reflected in his inept body. Being born out of a cauldron from his father's bones, Wormtail's hand, and Harry Potter's blood certainly did nothing for his appearance, and after about two years of use Voldemort soon discovered the astonishing lack of agility and grace his new body afforded. Not to mention the skeleton-like appearance made him look dirt poor, as though he hadn't eaten in months. When the Dark Lord was feeling wistful, he would often revisit his Hogwarts days, when he was easily the best-looking human in the castle. None of the aforementioned reasons, however, had ever bothered Voldemort for more than three seconds. No, he was far too busy brooding in his green leather chair or whipping out his wand for some Deatheater discipline. But soon his old age did something Voldemort could not ignore.

Around the summer before the seventh year of his archenemy, Harry Potter, Voldemort had awoken from his chair and tried to stretch his hands, as he always did to prepare for the wand-wielding day ahead. He was unpleasantly surprised, then, to find a sharp pain in his right hand. After muttering a number of healing spells, Voldemort was relieved to find that the pain had numbed away. A few moments later, however, the pain appeared again, this time in his left hand. Voldemort cursed again and beckoned the pain again, resolving that it was nothing important to place in his memory. Several days passed before Voldemort experienced another bout of pain, though this time from a different source. Dear old Lucius Malfoy had paid him a visit, and Voldemort had happened to have been standing at the time, walking thoughtfully around the room in deep thought. The room was hardly lit; understandably, the Dark Lord liked his darkness. Lucius had allegedly heard a suspicious noise in the room, and had whipped around quickly to find the source. In doing so, he had swung his wooden staff like a helicopter propeller and hit Voldemort squarely in the back as he passed by. The stick had initially displaced only one vertebra, but with a body like Voldemort's, the rest of the little bones collapsed like dominoes. Lucius had to carry a crumpled heap, the remains of a spineless Voldemort, to the nearest table. It took nearly an entire day to recuperate. Needless to say, Lucius was punished. As these bodily accidents occurred with increasing frequency, however, Voldemort began toying with the idea of a stronger, more powerful body, to match his strong and powerful magic. These woeful accidents explain why on this particular summer day, Voldemort sat at a table absorbed in dark rejuvenation spells, while chewing thoughtfully on a handful of women's calcium tablets.

His first notion when he gave serious thought to the matter was the he had two goals. First, he needed youthful agility and a less senile mind. Second, despite the onset of senility, he still needed to keep his mind, memories, and most importantly, skill, intact. None of the spells really had these qualities, so at the end of the day Voldemort decided on a little creation of his own. Voldemort refused to resemble any other person, and in his mind the only person worthy of looking like was himself. His thoughts dwelled momentarily on his youth. Yes, he would regain his good looks, his charm. Voldemort neglected to inform his Deatheaters of the impending operation, though he did send Wormtail to secure several potion ingredients. The next step would not be as easy. He needed a copy of his younger self. For that, he needed the horcrux he had used many years before. The horcrux was a non-descript, muggle-made diary, currently residing in the hands of….

"Lucius," Voldemort said.

"Yes, my Lord, I am here," Lucius Malfoy replied, bowing lowly.

"Recovered from Azkaban, are you? I trust you have the diary I entrusted in you several years ago?"

"Yes, my Lord, of course. I am most indebted to you for securing my freedom. But I am afraid…" Lucius paused. He had no idea the diary would ever be of importance to Voldemort; he imagined it was just an old school keepsake. Had the Weasley girl and Potter tampered with it? Surely, it did not matter.

"You let Potter come into possession of the diary," Voldemort sneered, reading Lucius's confused facial expressions. Behind the sneer, however, he feared the worst. Potter must have encountered the memory sealed inside and destroyed it. One seventh of his soul, gone.

"My Lord, I … slipped it to the Weasley girl. I believe the diary possessed her, unlocking the Chamber of Secrets."

"Certainly, Lucius. But the girl lives, does she not?" Voldemort said quietly. Lucius felt it was best to remain silent. He lowered his eyes to the ground in a gesture of humility. Voldemort, however, cared nothing for whatever traits his Deatheaters might display. All that mattered was the precious horcrux. And now, thanks to Lucius's utter lack of judgment, Voldemort could feel the life draining out of himself by the minute.

"Master, I apologize deeply. It won't ever - " Lucius started, deepening his bow. Voldemort contemplated hitting Lucius with a Cruciatus Curse, but thought better of it. It might harm his precious diary.

"No matter. I am feeling forgiving today, Lucius. Give me the diary now, unless…" Voldemort smiled, his serpentine features spread taut across his brittle face. In his mind however, he was quite alarmed at what he had just said. Feeling forgiving? He sounded like an old lady with a mouthful of biscuits. To make up for his slip, Voldemort rolled his wand around carelessly in his hand, as though he were a torturer deciding what spell to use on a victim. Lucius got the message, and Apparated back to his manor to retrieve the book. The longhaired man returned seconds later, holding a tattered leather book in his right hand. He bowed again, presenting the priceless artifact to Voldemort. The Dark Lord snatched it and tucked it in his robes. "Now get out of my sight," he spat.

"Of course, my Lord. If you need me again, just - " Lucius bowed again, withdrawing cautiously. Voldemort glared at him with red eyes.

"Get out of my presence," Voldemort hissed. Lucius needed to further warning. He Disapparated without a word.

Voldemort took the beaten diary from his robes with his white spindly fingers. "Tom Marvolo Riddle, such sweet passing," he said, laughing softly. He opened to the first page and wrote, "withdraw", and tapped the words once with his wand while muttering "animus abstulium". To Voldemort's dismay but not to his surprise, nothing happened. Potter had indeed succeeded in destroying a portion of his soul. That was no matter; with a bit of skill he might be able replicate another portion his soul and lock it away again. The process, however, took several months, and now was not the time. At the moment, he needed to retrieve a facsimile of his teenage body. Voldemort put his wand to his wrist and drew out a drop of blood, carefully dropping it on the first page. Hopefully the old charm would still work, even with some of Potter's filthy blood running through his veins. "Corpus substulia " Voldemort said, again the same muted voice. _This needn't be so secretive_, he thought. He could finish it earlier, faster even, if he had his Deatheaters to aid him. Voldemort stopped himself again. His thoughts were certainly running amok lately. Had he become dependent upon others? Was he so physically and mentally strained that he needed to renew his body? _No,_ Voldemort repeated to himself, watching the fire in the corner of his eye, _this is not weakness. I am never weak._ He twilled the paper's surface with the tip of his wand, as though he were stirring an abnormally calm potion. The pages of the diary softened, regurgitating thin fibers that stuck to Voldemort's wand. He added another drop of blood, and the fibers coagulated into a thick, maroon-colored substance. Voldemort carefully withdrew his wand, taking the viscous liquid with him. Dropping the pea-sized globule into an awaiting cauldron, he could not help but stretch his face into a triumphant smile.

Wormtail, a round man who skittered rather than walked, arrived early the next day with several potion ingredients, accompanied by Avery. "My Lord," he said, grasping for Voldemort's robes, "if you need any assistance, any at all…."

Voldemort cut him off abruptly. "There is no need, Wormtail," he said coldly. "Avery, surely this little errand didn't require two Deatheaters? Or am I overestimating your abilities? If I remember correctly, I asked you to find the oaf Hagrid. Don't tell me you can't track down someone half the size of a small house…" Voldemort ended, drilling his blood red eyes into Avery's skull. Avery crumpled like tissue paper under his stare.

"My Lord, no, I am working on it diligently, right this very moment, I just found - " Avery began, clearly fearing an oncoming Cruciatus or Avada Kedavra.

"You lie, Avery," Voldemort said, probing the blonde man's mind. "I hope you don't need any… motivation?" Voldemort fingered his wand gently, curling his lips into a slight sneer. Wormtail backed up against the wall, terrified, as though he might be punished as well.

"My Lord, please, I am not as wise as you," Avery stuttered, gripping Voldemort's robes as Wormtail had done minutes before.

"No need, Avery, no need, Lord Voldemort is forgiving," Voldemort said in a high cold voice, about to turn and walk away. He wondered momentarily why in Merlin's name he was being such a pushover today… forgiving people all over the place, first with Lucius, now with Avery. Voldemort shook the thought from his mind and stopped abruptly, pointing one last glare at Avery. "But, should I find - " Voldemort said, twirling his wand casually.

"My Lord, thank you, you are most gracious, most kind, most worthy," Avery said, sounding very relieved as he bowed and backed away. The rest of his praises drowned out by Wormtail's sudden squeal.

"Wormtail, you have the ingredients?" Voldemort said, turning swiftly upon the Wormtail's wide cowering figure.

"Yes, yes, my Lord, of course," Wormtail said meekly, holding out a bulging paper bag and trying desperately to stabilize his trembling hand.

"Good, Wormtail, good. Perhaps, next time, I will give you a more … challenging assignment," Voldemort said, smirking slightly. "You may leave." The two Deatheaters Apparated a little too quickly, and Voldemort was once again left alone with his near-empty cauldron.

It took Voldemort a month to prepare, mix, and brew the potion, and by the time he was complete, in early August, he was thoroughly pleased with himself. "The last ingredient," he murmured, his hand seizing with a familiar pain. No matter. It would be gone momentarily. Voldemort added a dash of ground unicorn horn and breathed deeply as the potion turned a murky green. He gingerly filled a cup and vanished the entire cauldron with a flick of his wand. He retreated to a nearby chair, barely denting it with his thin body. The solution burned his throat as he swallowed it, and he waited momentarily for the effects to take hold. In a matter of seconds, Voldemort felt his frame crumple. He blacked out with a rare look of uncertainty in his eyes.

When Voldemort awoke the next morning, he felt wondrously energetic… almost happy. The clock read 6:14 AM. He walked over to the old antiqued mirror, and was nearly blown of his feet. The potion, it seemed, had succeeded. Voldemort admired his sixteen-year-old physique. Dashing, certainly. But more importantly, his bones wouldn't be breaking on their own volition for quite a while now.

At 6:32 AM someone knocked on the front door. "Master, we are here," declared two voices that Voldemort recognized immediately as Rodolphus Lestrange and his wife Bellatrix.

"Enter," he said. The Lestranges appeared in front of him, already kneeling on the ground.

"Excuse us, my Lord," the mound on the left with a male voice said.

"Late again, are we? Nevertheless, I trust you have made the map?" said Voldemort, his voice hinged with the usual coldness.

"Of course, master," Bellatrix rose slightly, producing a thin white roll of parchment from her robes. Now both she and he husband stood, still with their heads down, to await Voldemort's approval. Voldemort unrolled the parchment in his hands and was pleased to see that the Lestranges had indeed succeeded. The map was a perfect duplicate of Hogwarts, with every inhabitant labeled in minute detail. At the moment, only a few ghosts roamed the halls, but Voldemort knew the situation would get interesting once September rolled around.

"You have not failed me," Voldemort nodded curtly. Bellatrix and Rodolphus' heads remained down-turned. "Bella, you have kept a firm watch on 12 Grimmauld Place?"

"Yes, master," Bellatrix replied, speakinggleefully to the floor. "The animagus Black left the house to the worthless Potter. But the house elf, Kreacher, is still loyal to me. He will be of help to us in the future, as he was before."

"Very well, Bella," Voldemort nodded again. She had made up well for her blunder at the Ministry two years previous, unlike some of his less capable servants. Now Bellatrix and Rodolphus raised their heads, slowly. Voldemort expected praise for being able to complete such an age-defying piece of magic, or otherwise compliments scattered carelessly before him. He had not, however, anticipated Bellatrix to widen her eyes in surprise and blush lightly before fainting face-forward on the ground. Voldemort cast a raised eyebrow and a look of incredulity at her standing husband, whose mouth nearly three times as wide as it should have been. Rodolphus quickly composed himself, and Voldemort was horrified to see that his face had flushed pink as well.

"My Lord," Rodolphus started, stammering slightly, "Is that… what…." Voldemort glared at him, almost lost for words. Deatheaters doubting his identity? Surely, there was some resemblance between his current appearance and the one he held before? Voldemort resisted an urge to throw a Cruciatus on Rodolphus right on the spot. He stopped himself, for some reasons unknown. _I should excuse for their abominable stupidity_, Voldemort thought, though he felt disgusted with himself. The potion must have turned him soft.

"Rodolphus," Voldemort said in a hard voice, "you believe me to be someone else?" Voldemort pulled his hood a little further over his head. No need to give anyone a heart attack.

"No, no, my … Lord," Rodolphus said, looking down again. Voldemort, however, sensing his residual uncertainty, found an opportunity to teach them a lesson of humility. He pressed two long and pale fingers against a skull and serpent mark on his arm. It burned a bright white, almost disappearing. Immediately, hooded figures appeared all around them, their heads bowed blissfully low. Rodolphus took the initiative to roll his shamefully unconscious wife to the side.

"Rodolphus and Bellatrix," Voldemort began, curling his lips at the edges, "were kind enough to pay a visit this morning." Rodolphus made a small gurgling noise, his face darkening exponentially. Voldemort continued, still smiling. "Clearly, one of them has had a mishap. Dear Bella here," Voldemort smirked, walking over to Bellatrix's half-turned body on the floor, "passed out when she saw me. Now, my friends, I must admit I have undergone some … changes … these past few weeks. My old body was not up to its usual standards, as you might understand. I managed to fashion myself a fresh one, a replica of my younger self. I neglected to inform Rodolphus of this, and he doubted my identity." Rodolphus's face deepened to a ripe plum color. He murmured something unintelligible towards the floor tiles, still staring in horror at his wife's body, which still showed no signs of waking. "Do not worry, Rodolphus, Bella will come around in time. To the rest of my friends, I trust that you will not collapse when you see me?" Several dozen hooded heads nodded, muttering comments such as "You are most ingenious, my Lord" and "My respect for you is unparalleled, master". Voldemort smirked again. "Good." He lowered his hood and attempted to begin giving out new assignments, but not before Wormtail, also known as Peter Pettigrew, yelled out in surprise.

"Master, you are … beautiful…" Wormtail stuttered, looking up at Voldemort's unlined, pale face and black wavy hair in awe. Several Deatheaters murmured their agreement.

"Enough," Voldemort said, slightly irritated. He went through a list of new assignments, setting the Cruciatus Curse on a few lazy Deatheaters and even managing to kill off one. Ah, back to his old self again. Voldemort was, however, unnerved by the abnormal looks some of the Deatheaters gave him. He did not mind terribly, of course, it was always good to stand out, to be different, but he swore that amid the expressions of fascination and subservience, he caught a few looks of… lust? _No_, he thought, shaking the disgusting idea from his mind. He was once inclined to rethink this notion, however, when Nott and Lucius approached him after the meeting. Most of the Deatheaters had left by then, though a scarce few were bent next to an awakening Bellatrix and a bright red Rodolphus, slowly hoisting the woman up by her bony arms.

"My Lord," Lucius began, inclining his head, "with your renewed physique, I would be most honored if you would accompany me on my next muggle - "

"My Lord," Nott interrupted, "muggles require hardly any strength. Now dangerous creatures are another matter. I would be most sincerely deeply- "

"MASTER!" shrieked Bellatrix, who had apparently just woken up properly. The Deatheaters surrounding her jumped back in surprise. The black-haired woman pulled her self to her feet and kneeled on the floor before Voldemort, securing her hands around Lord Voldemort's ankles. Lord Voldemort blanched and tried to shake her off, put the bawling woman only shook harder. "MASTER! Forgive me! My behavior was … inexcusable … please master, PLEASE!" Rodolphus gestured empty-handedly at his wife, and Voldemort glared at the few Deatheaters in the room. All were bowed in silence, their lips unmoving, Voldemort noticed, except for one. The young one in the corner, hidden in Lucius's shadow, had a trace of a smirk on his mouth. Voldemort pointed his wand at the boy, causing the youth to appear right before him.

The blonde was as surprised as anything, his smirk vanishing immediately when Voldemort declared, "You! Lucius's son, Draco, is it not?" The boy nodded meekly and his father cast a disapproving glare, looking as though he wanted to knock the boy off his feet with his staff. "Tell me, Draco, what are you laughing at?"

"Nothing, master, nothing," Draco said softly.

"Nothing indeed …" Voldemort laughed, staring into Draco's eyes. The weak were so very easy to manipulate. "Let's see now, you're deathly afraid at the moment, aren't you? Poor boy, and you're afraid of what your father will say as well. Yes… I can feel your anger, your fear for me. Now to find what you're smirking at…" Voldemort laughed, and Draco's cheeks burned. "You're wondering how I became handsome all of a sudden… understandable. And you find Bella's display of … affection … unusual?" Voldemort chuckled quietly, tilting Draco's head up with a thin finger. "But you're in no place to laugh at anyone are you? _CRUCIO_!" The air filled with Draco's wails and Lucius looked on unsympathetically. Voldemort lifted the curse rather quickly. "You may have succeeded once, boy, but Lord Voldemort does not take kindly to those who mock others more worthy than themselves…"

"Yes, sorry, my Lord," Draco panted, his face flushed red.

"Good, good …" Voldemort laughed again, as coldly as before. "Now the rest of you, don't waste my time." The Deatheaters nodded in agreement and one by one they Disapparated (Rodolphus had to hold Bellatrix on his shoulder). "Now, my dear Nagini," Voldemort said, turning towards a snake stretched out languorously in the corner, "time for breakfast." Voldemort composed himself in his green armchair and turned to face the morning sun. He stroked the serpent as it swallowed a live rat.

Many miles away, Lucius Malfoy paced around his son, tapping his cane in a rather violent manner. "Draco, you have disgraced me as well as the Malfoy family before the Dark Lord."

"Sorry, father…" Draco mumbled, in a voice very unlike the one he used with other people.

"I don't want you getting a big head after Dumbledore's… demise," Lucius smirked. "The Dark Lord has many challenges ahead for you. If you can't prove yourself…"

"Sorry father, I will," Draco said, biting his tongue. The elder Malfoy exhaled smugly.

"And you might do better at convincing some of your little friends to take the Lord more seriously…"

"None of them are Deatheaters yet, father," said Draco. Honestly, his father was rather dense at times. Did he really think Crabbe and Goyle were made of Deatheater material?

"Well I daresay if you fail, the Dark Lord will look for replacements… you need to be a leader, Draco, not the whining brat you are."

Draco Malfoy resisted the urge to say, "Whatever, you long-haired bastard", and instead settled with a distant mumbling. Lucius, having felt that he had subdued Draco enough, left the youth alone in the study.

**PLEASE REVIEW :D**


	2. The Phelgmatic Wedding

_Title: A Return to Normalcy  
__Author: Noiri  
__Rating: T  
__Genre: Action/Adventure/Humor  
__Pairings: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Hermione/Tom (AKA Voldemort)  
__Summary: Old age is accompanied by a slew of medical complications that even the Dark Lord is not immune to. In a fit of discomfort, Voldemort finds a brilliant solution with startling consequences.  
__Disclaimer: Not mine.  
__A/N: I know this isn't moving as quick as some of you would like, but I'm trying to make it incorporate some elements of a realistic Harry Potter novel, just because I'm strange that way. (And yes, I do realize that by having Hermione/Tom I'm being in no way realistic, but, like I said, I'm strange.) If you're really keen on jumping straight to the Hermione/Tom part and cutting most of the plot/background out, just jump to the end of chapter 3, which, hopefully, will be posted in a day._

**Chapter 2: The Phlegmatic Wedding**

On the other side of England, a certain Harry Potter heaved his suitcases downstairs. Beaming at the perfectly kept living room and sparkling kitchen, he heaved the load onto the welcome mat with an unceremonious thump.

"Watch where you're throwing that thing, boy!" Harry's uncle shouted, storming into the foyer and nearly knocking over a small table.

"Vernon, don't worry about him, calm down, dear," a bony woman exclaimed, trying to suppress her husband, who had gone rather red in the face.

"Well he just had to break Dudley's hunting rifle before he left, did he?" Uncle Vernon growled.

"Yeah, you clumsy - " laughed Dudley. Suddenly he was muted in fear as a male figure appeared at the doorway. Whoever he was, his appearance was half-disguised by the lace curtains that the Dursleys had erected on the door windows. Seeing the figure, Harry grinned, at the same time taking pleasure in noting that the three people standing behind him were most likely shaking in their slippers.

"Who's that? Come to fetch you, has he?" Uncle Vernon glared at the door, unconsciously reaching for an umbrella.

"Oh that's Remus- he's a werewolf," Harry said in a mock casual tone. As Harry expected, the word "werewolf" immediately heightened the anxiety in the room. The Dursleys had never had much luck with wizards, much less magical creatures; the first time, Dudley had emerged with a pig's tail, the next, with a four-foot long tongue. Therefore, it was understandable that at the moment, Harry's large cousin was backed up against the wall, his large pudgy hands held firmly behind his back.

"A werewolf!" shrieked Aunt Petunia, as her face contorted horribly. She was, no doubt, imagining the neighbors staring in horror as a human-sized wolf tore down their door.

"No, no, he's not a wolf right _now_," Harry said pointedly as Remus knocked on the door. "Well, then, can I let him in?"

"I don't want one of _those_ in my house!" Vernon Dursley shouted, flaring his nostrils resolutely. "Just take your bloody luggage outside and get out! GET OUT!"

"All right, then," Harry said calmly, opening in the door. A shabby brown-haired man with an empty smile stood on the doorstep. "Hi, Remus." Remus Lupin started to cross over the threshold, causing Uncle Vernon's face to color and Aunt Petunia's face to whiten.

"I'm sorry, you … whatever you are" Uncle Vernon started, standing outside, "but if you put another foot in this house, I'll - " Suddenly a distinct pop was heard from behind the bushes, making all three Dursleys jump. A young woman with dull blue hair, looking slightly tired out, walked over to the front door and clasped Remus' hand firmly in her own. The Dursleys clearly neglected to remember either of them from the short meeting at the end of Harry's fifth year, because in a moment Aunt Petunia was wrinkling her nose in surprise and disgust.

"Wotcher, Harry," the woman said, managing a brief grin at Harry. She turned to the silent man beside her. "Oh Remus, you haven't introduced yourself, have you?"

"I'm afraid not," Remus sighed. "Very well then. I'm Remus Lupin, Harry's former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. So erm, we're here to take him to a wedding over at Ottery St. Catchpole … er, possibly permanently… oh, er, we're very, ah, sorry, I know it's quite sudden…" Uncle Vernon, however, did not seem to care about manners at the moment. Hearing confirmation of Harry's departure seemed to excite his spirits greatly.

"I don't really give a damn," Vernon said heatedly, his mustache bobbing furiously, "just take the boy and go!" Beside him, Aunt Petunia seemed to make a gesture with her hand, though Harry couldn't tell if she was trying to swat a fly or wave a small farewell.

"Right, then. I'm Tonks, by the way," the woman said, grabbing a hold of the remainder of Harry's luggage. She looked at the Dursleys expectantly. "Well, you're going to say good bye to him, aren't you? I don't know if Remus has explained the entire situation here, but our world is in danger and you might not even see Harry again." Tonks gazed at the Dursleys in sympathy, which they only greeted with bewilderment.

"It's not my fault if the boy goes and gets himself killed, right? No paperwork or anything?" Vernon barked, eyeing the two suspiciously.

"Er… I think you're missing the point…" Remus said, staring at the Dursleys in mild disbelief.

"Don't bother, Remus," Harry interjected, shaking his head at his relatives. "We'd better just go now…"

"All right, then, Harry. Well, Glasses steady? Hair on?" said Tonks. "You'd better hold Remus' hand, we're just going to be Apparating there." Harry held the man's moist palm in one hand and a handful of his luggage in the other, nodding. He cast a last glance at the Dursleys, who seemed mostly unfazed by the fact that they might never see him again. Tonks said, "OK, let's go!" and immediately the three of them disappeared into the air.

When Harry's feet finally hit solid ground, the three of them were standing outside the Burrow, the home of Harry's friend Ron Weasley. A head of red curls peered at them from the door window, which Harry gathered to belong to Mrs. Weasley. "Molly, it's us," Tonks said, rapping on the door. Mrs. Weasley made to turn the doorknob, but she was immediately shunted aside by her husband, Arthur.

"Alright Tonks, what does your mother call you?" Arthur said gleefully into the door.

Tonks sighed and rolled her eyes, laughing. "Dory-pooh," she replied quietly, her voice laced with a slight trace of embarrassment.

"And Remus?"

"Wolfgang," Lupin muttered, hunching his back over ever so slightly.

"Good man, Remus. And you're sure you've got Harry Potter?"

"Oh, Arthur, for heaven's sake, just let the poor things in!" Mrs. Weasley said, pushing her husband away and opening the door graciously. "Come in, Harry, dear, we've been worried sick over you."

A red-haired teenage girl named Ginny walked into the room, adding, "Really, Harry, she has. Mum had the flu last week, she could barely get up." She was followed by her brother Ron, who also boasted bright red hair and a lanky figure.

"Well, come on, Harry," Ron said, smiling. He waved his wand at some of Harry's suitcases, which proceeded to float shakily. "Haven't quite got a hold of it yet," he added sheepishly. "But it's great you know, finally being able to do magic at home, right?" Harry nodded and took hold of a particularly large leather pack with his right hand, starting towards the stairs. A bushy brown head appeared at the top of the stairwell.

"Harry, you can use magic too, you know. It's your birthday, remember?" the girl said, also smiling broadly.

Harry blushed. It _was_ his birthday, and for once, he had completely forgotten. How could he, especially when it brought such an influx of important events? For one, as a seventeen year old and therefore an adult wizard, he could use magic any time he wished, and he would be able to Apparate soon, once he passed the test. More important in Harry's mind, however, was the fact that he was now the proud owner of 12 Grimmauld Place (though he didn't really have a mind for living there) and he would never have to see the Dursleys again. These thoughts put Harry in good spirits as he, too, brandished his wand and waved at the remainder of his luggage.

"Are you sure you don't want anything to eat, Harry dear? I baked you a birthday cake," Mrs. Weasley called, as Harry and Ron started up the stairs.

"Oh, thanks Mrs. Weasley, I'm fine, really," replied Harry, nodding at Mrs. Weasley appreciatively.

"You can just stay in Fred and George's room, again, I guess," Ron said, when they finally reached an empty room. He flicked his wand impatiently at the suitcases, causing one of them to open and the others to hit the walls of the room.

"Ron, what are you _doing_," Hermione said, approaching from behind them. She flicked her wand at the whole room, and all of the suitcases lined up neatly against the back wall.

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said. He, too, flicked his wand, and the suitcases landed neatly in the center of the room. Ron's ears managed to turn a brilliant shade of crimson.

"Oh, _honestly_, Ron, get over it," Ginny yawned, rolling her eyes at her embarrassed brother.

"Let's go down for cake, then, shall we? I expect Bill and _Fleur_ to arrive any second, now," Ron snorted, starting towards the stares. Harry amusedly shook his head at Hermione, who shrugged back with a bit of a smile.

"_He's_ trying to make me jealous or something by mentioning Fleur. It's not like _I_ care. She's marrying his brother, not him," Hermione said, pursing her lips in a matter not unlike Aunt Petunia.

"Er, how long has this … thing … been going on?" Harry muttered, turning his attention towards Ginny.

"Oh, ever since Hermione got here, just a few days ago," said Ginny, sighing dramatically. "I think both of them are a bit slow on the uptake, if you ask me."

Harry grinned knowingly. Perhaps the wedding would bring them to their senses.

The wedding was to take place the following Sunday, and so the whole of the Burrow was thrown into disarray. Mrs. Weasley zoomed through the house with the force of a lion, randomly straightening objects, complaining at Harry's constant state of malnutrition (she never seemed to tire of it), shouting for Ginny to try on her bridesmaid gown, or otherwise fussing with Bill. Percy finally had the decency to show up, partially because he was at risk of being permanently cursed by his siblings, and partially because some of Bill's important Gringotts coworkers would be there. Fleur's parents, her delicate sister Gabrielle, and a gaggle of various blonde-haired relatives arrived on Thursday. Fleur herself arrived the following day, as she had been involved in an internship over the summer. The Delacours were not the least bit put off by the Burrow, though they were more of a hindrance than a help, due to their sparse knowledge of English. It was quite a miracle, Harry decided, that they were all able to communicate arrangements at all. He found out through careful listening that the wedding would take place at an elegant wizarding chapel near Dover, and the whole lot would be traveling by mass portkey. (The Delacours had not been able to understand the exact location of the chapel, and so Mrs. Weasley thought it best that they all travel together, for fear that the Delacours might end up stranded at a random point in England.)

On Saturday morning they all gathered in a circle with their hands stretched towards an gigantic worn-out candle, waiting for 9:00 AM to arrive. Harry and Ron had spent the morning packing (Hermione scolded them for doing it so late). Harry had brought his green dress robes from fourth year, and some various toiletries. (Ron was very glad for an occasion to show off the dress robes that Fred and George, for some reason, had bought him.) The entire scene was rather peculiar indeed; there were nine redheads and nine blondes crowded together, with Harry and Hermione lost somewhere within. As 9:00 AM came and went, Harry found that they were no longer standing at the Burrow, but in the large and spacious foyer of an ancient chapel.

"Right, then," Mr. Weasley said, disposing of the candle in the nearby trashcan. "We'd better start setting up today.

"_Mon mari et moi pouvons créer des fleurs_," Madame Delacour said lightly, waving her wand grandly and producing a magnificent pastel floral arrangement.

"Yes, but where are you going to _put_ that?" Mrs. Weasley asked pointedly, though she was clearly impressed with the bouquet.

"_Pardonne-moi?"_ Madame Delacour said, clearly not understanding a word of English. Thankfully, her husband interjected.

"My wife means to say iz zat we can 'elp with zee … euh … fleurs" Monsieur Delacour said, finishing rather uncertainly.

"Oh, no," Mrs. Weasley said, turning red, "of course you can help your daughter! No, what I meant was that - " However, she was abruptly cut off by Fleur, who had decided to rejoin the conversation.

"My mother is a florist," she explained, clutching Bill's hand, "she can decorate zee place wizz beautiful flowers."

"Yes," Mrs. Weasley said, an understanding slowly dawning upon her, "that would be fine, of course, Arthur and I can get a head start on the seating." With that, the entire party set to their tasks, working diligently until the afternoon. "Bill, dear, what do you think?" Mrs. Weasley beamed, admiring the transformed chapel. An array of ever-fresh flowers artfully adorned the doorways and walls, while lovely silky gauze seemed to wrap up the entire building.

"It's fine, mum, really," Bill said, panting slightly after having conjured and arranged so many chairs and tables.

"Fine?" Mrs. Weasley reproached, sounding slightly hurt that Bill hadn't burst out in joy. "Are you sure, dear? We can work a little more on it, if you like." At this, the entire workforce turned up their heads in slight horror.

"No, no, mum, it's fine, I love it, I promise," Bill reassured her tiredly. The remainder of the Weasleys and Delacours, along with Harry and Hermione, nodded as furiously as they could. Slightly more calmed in the nerves, Mrs. Weasley smiled and bade them all Apparate home.

The next morning's wedding was a cheerful, if security-tight, affair. The entire Order of the Phoenix showed up. Though significantly humbled by the loss of Dumbledore and the betrayal of Snape, Mad Eye Moody took to standing by the doorway behind the umbrella stand and carefully eyeballing every guest as they entered. (One infant had caught sight of the dancing glass eyeball, and promptly started wailing in horror.) Harry could only guess half the charms and enchantments that Moody may have instituted to provide maximum protection, and for once, he, Ron, and Hermione stayed completely in their seats, for fear of setting off one of Moody's none-too-pleasant booby traps. Harry watching calmly as Bill, Charlie, Mr. Weasley, and several other men he could not identify strode prominently to the front of the chapel room. He was finding it to be much the same as a traditional muggle wedding, until he saw a large white rose floating down from the ceiling on a cloud of smaller white rose petals. As the rose touched the floor, the petals opened to produce Fleur, who stood there rather smugly in a beautiful white gown made of a strange cloth that seemed to glow on its own accord. (At this, most of the males in the room became entranced in their seats, earning many haughty glares from the various wives.) "I read that wizarding brides try to make as grand an appearance as possible," whispered Hermione in awe as Ginny and Gabrielle, both in pale green bridesmaid gowns, appeared out of thin air. Harry breathed fervently, noticing that Ron had gone slightly slack-jawed in the seat to his right. "Oh, for goodness sakes, Ron, _stop_ it!" Hermione hissed quietly, leaning slightly across Harry's lap. A small red-haired boy, evidently part of the Weasley family, floated down the aisle with a minute potted seedling in his hands. The solemn man at the front, dressed in painfully sequined robes, did a complicated bit of magic and some ancient chanting that left Harry impressed but didn't seem to have much of an effect on the rest of the wedding party. Before he knew it was over, Bill and Fleur had kissed and everyone around him was getting up for refreshments.

"I wish _I_ had caught the olive branch," Hermione sighed, reaching for an elegantly carved goblet filled with a misty liquid and topped with an abnormally large strawberry.

"Who would you want to marry?" Ron said accusingly. "_Krum_?"

"No," said Hermione, glaring crossly. "I don't _like_ him anymore. He's just a nice friend."

"Oh, really?" Ron said, looking both relieved and suspicious at the same time. "Who d'you fancy now, then? That bloke over there?"

"I don't _fancy_ anyone at all, and I certainly won't for quite some time now, thank you very much," Hermione said succinctly. She grabbed her goblet and went to find Ginny.

"Don't worry, Ron," Harry said absentmindedly, contemplating the vast selection of drinks. "She's lying."

"Right," muttered Ron, walking into the table and nearly knocking all the goblets over. "Not like I really care, though, anyway."


	3. Imernia Imotasia

_Title: A Return to Normalcy  
__Author: Noiri  
__Rating: T  
__Genre: Action/Adventure/Humor  
__Pairings: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Hermione/Tom (AKA Voldemort)  
__Summary: Old age is accompanied by a slew of medical complications that even the Dark Lord is not immune to. In a fit of discomfort, Voldemort finds a brilliant solution with startling consequences.  
__Disclaimer: Not mine.  
__A/N: Next chapter will have some more uh… action. Really._

**Chapter 3: Imernia Imotasia**

Oddly enough, while Bill and Fleur were being joined in matrimony, Lord Voldemort was facing marital problems of his own. Since his transformation, he had refined and restricted his priority to achieving luxurious immortality (and blowing Harry Potter to bite-sized pieces). Thankfully, it had not occurred to Voldemort to question his new optimistic view on life. Unbeknownst to the Dark Lord, Severus Snape had been mixing undetectable quantities of Lucinium, a potion with the extraordinary ability to purify and clear the drinker's mind, into Voldemort's daily nutrient shake. Voldemort did find a funny aftertaste mixed in with the kiwi lime flavor (and he had a very shrewd idea of what it was), but his thoughts were predisposed to think positively of Snape after Dumbledore's defeat. Somewhere in his brain, a little voice told him that he should be feeling a little wary of Snape's kindness and Draco Malfoy's good fortune, but these notions, too, were squashed diligently by Lucinium. Thus, though he occasionally joined his Deatheaters in their favorite pastime, muggle hunting, he found the trips boring and surprisingly awkward. It was on these excursions that Voldemort was ambushed by a number of marriage-related problems.

A restless Sunday night found Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Dolohov quite eager to engage in some muggle torture. Voldemort, having nothing planned in particular, grudgingly accompanied them. Offhandedly, he thought it might be an apt time to discipline Lucius, and perhaps embarrass him further for the Ministry and diary slips.

"Lucius," Voldemort began, as the party of four glided surreptitiously towards a muggle hangout, "I do not believe I ever properly addressed your … discipline."

"Master," murmured Lucius, salivating slightly, "I am the most discipline of all, you may command me at your whim and I will be sure to obey."

"Words are only words, my sly friend," Voldemort said knowingly, "and I trust you have realized your inexcusable blunders. I never wish to see such failures again."

"You are most wise and stunning, my master, I will remain always your humble slave," Lucius said, dropping his head in reverence. As he rose again, Voldemort noticed Lucius's eyes light up with a lustrous glare. Voldemort decided right there to abandon the subject. He was getting that uncomfortable feeling again. As they rounded the corner, Voldemort lowered his hood and surveyed the scene. They were beside a small muggle club in London, undoubtedly filled to the brim with drunkards.

"Take whomever you will, my friends," Voldemort announced tiredly as he stepped into the building. "I shall await you in the - "

"_Oh_, Miranda! Look at the handsome man over there? Let's go say hello!" a muggle woman shouted from the back. Voldemort barely had time to register that they were referring to him before a crowd of drunk middle-aged women plastered in make-up surrounded him. Voldemort caught a last glimpse of Lucius and the others, looking distinctly stunned, before he was pinned against the wall.

"_TERRIO MORSMORADUM!_" Voldemort bellowed, blowing then entire crowd of women away from him. Most landed, unconscious, against and on top of various chairs and tables. A select few, however, managed to stay alert. To Voldemort's horror, they now looked at him not with fear but with a renewed sense of lust. The men in the room seemed to notice surprisingly little, though a few were throwing him strange looks.

"Oh, this one musta got some big muscles," a brunette woman slurred. To Voldemort's left, a large blonde woman were crawling towards him and attempting to clutch his robes.

"_INTERRIO!_" Voldemort shouted, knocking out the woman.

"What's happened to Betsy dear?" said an old woman groggily.

"You must be from Spain!" someone shouted from Voldemort's left. "Oh, I absolutely _LOVE_ men from Spain!"

"Don't you _dare_ touch the young man, he's been looking at me all along."

Voldemort stared at the whole crowd dumbly, as several women regained consciousness. If he had been more cautious, Voldemort would have cursed the lot and left it at that. But this strange display of admiration, love, and affection disabled and confused him. He hadn't been able to attract people this way for many, many years.

"Will you marry me?"

Voldemort flipped around. An extremely overweight red-haired woman was pressing herself against him, in a manner that Voldemort found highly uncomfortable. She knocked Voldemort down, smothering his mouth with her pudgy hand.

"Marry me, just say it," she said in what she hoped was a seductive voice. Immediately, the remaining conscious women piled on top over him. Shouts of "No, marry me!" and "I love you forever!" were heard. Voldemort wondered wildly were the hell Lucius and the others were. Absolutely disgusted with his situation, Voldemort decided to Apparate out to the street again. In frustration, he destroyed the entire building with a quick "Pessur manitus". A few moments later, Lucius, Crabbe, Goyle, and Dolohov emerged from the rubble. Voldemort regarded them with utmost disgust.

Dolohov gave him a saddened look. "Oh beautiful master, you wouldn't have married any of them, would you?" If possible, Voldemort's scowl deepened.

"Your antics are most disgraceful. I hope this is not how you usually waste your time," Voldemort barked. Crabbe and Goyle, at least, had the decency to look down in shame.

"Of course, my Lord, of course," Lucius said smoothly. "I am most thankful that you did not find any of the women attractive." Voldemort looked at him derisively. He decided not to analyze Lucius's words any further.

The next day, Voldemort schemed while Harry, Ron, and Hermione returned to Hogwarts. "Oh, _Harry_, I'm so glad we got the Head positions this year!" Hermione gushed excitedly.

"Oh, yeah," said Harry offhandedly, fingering his Head Boy badge. He really had no idea why McGonagall, the new Headmistress, had given him the job, seeing as how he had never been made a Prefect. "I think I'm going to give the badge back, though," he shrugged, as the Hogwarts express zoomed cleanly through a mountain.

"You are?" Hermione's eyes opened widely, as though such a deed was wholly unheard of. "Why?"

Ron seemed to brighten up slightly at the news. "Well, I think I'm going to be out of Hogwarts for most of the year, since … you know," Harry said, trailing off.

Both Ron and Hermione adopted similar looks of surprise and admiration. "You're really going to go to Godric's Hollow, then?" asked Ron, his mouth hanging slightly open.

"Well, yeah," Harry said uncomfortably. Hadn't they already touched on this at the end of sixth year? "Dumbledore reckoned that I should go and check out the … er, scene, you know, because, well - "

Hermione raised her hand reflexively, as though answered a question in class. "Of _course_! I should have figured _that_ part out!"

"What part?" Ron said irritably, throwing Hermione a short-lived glare.

"You know," started Hermione, though it was very clear that Ron didn't know, "because _all _magic leaves traces, and Harry's got to find out as much about Voldemort as possible."

"And the Horcruxes," Harry added.

Hermione seemed to be having an internal fit. "Oh! Of course, I can't believe I forgot about those too. Horcruxes are - "

"I _know_ what a Horcrux is, all right? You're not the _only_ one Harry told." Ron scowled, his face turning red. Ron's words seemed to have a calming effect on Hermione. She resettled in her seat and bought a few Cauldron Cakes from the cart as it passed by.

"Well, Harry, in that case, I think I'll have to turn in my badge as well," Hermione said resolutely.

"What?" Harry shouted, scaring a group of first years in the corridor. "You're not going to be coming with me, are you?"

"Of course we are, mate," Ron grinned. Harry did not grin back. On the contrary, his face contorted at this piece of news.

"Didn't we talk about this during Dumbledore's funeral?" said Hermione. "Harry, Dumbledore wanted you to tell us these things for a reason." Harry's face dropped a bit more. "I _know_ Dumbledore made you tell us. He wants us to help you, Harry."

"Not that you need _that_ much help," Ron added quickly, when Harry scowled. "But wouldn't it be nice if we came along for … er … company?"

Suddenly something echoed in Harry's mind. _Voldemort always works alone_. Dumbledore obviously did not feel it best for Harry to work alone. And although Harry and Voldemort wished for isolation in different counts, the former to protect his friends and the latter to protect against incompetence, Harry decided that it would be best not to follow in his archenemy's footsteps.

"Right," Harry said, dazed at his new revelation. "Company."

"Speaking of company," Ginny said, poking her head in through the door, "where have you lot been? Terry Boot just _won't_ leave me alone."

Harry blushed unconsciously. "Oh, yeah, come in, Ginny." At this, talk turned quidditch, which Harry felt rather guilty for abandoning. He decided not to reveal his plan to Ginny all too soon, though he was sure Hermione might give Ginny a debriefing once the two reached the girls' dormitories.

Hogwarts was much the same as it had always been, though the scene in the Great Hall showed some conspicuous absences. Harry noted that Slytherin was about a third of its usual size, and the few Slytherins that were left were visibly shaken at the thought of the Deatheaters that had been among them. The rest of the Houses, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw were also significantly smaller, as many parents had decided to withdraw their children for safety reasons. Likewise, the sorting of first years was much shorter than it had been before. The hat's song had a peculiarly morbid tone, ending with "For the few remaining, for the few that are alive, gather in unity with strength and luck and you all just might survive." ("We ought to buy a more cheerful one," Ron commented, "that scared the first years out of their wits, that did.") The new headmistress, McGonagall, though not nearly as respected as Dumbledore had been, nevertheless started the start-of-term address with impressive vigor. Her sharp voice, usually enough to straighten students in their seats, made it very clear that misbehavior was strictly forbidden. "Who's going to take her place, though?" Ron said warily, upon realizing that their Transfiguration professor and head of house was gone.

"It's probably the middle-aged woman over there," Hermione said excitedly, pointing to the end of the staff table.

As if in response, McGonagall announced, "I now have the pleasure of introducing the new head of Gryffindor house and Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Hestia Jones. I myself with continue teaching Transfiguration. Please welcome your new professor."

Several dozen heads focused on a kindly looking woman sitting next to Professor Sinistra, who waved cheerily. "Thank you, now it is time to eat," McGonagall said curtly, seating herself back in her chair.

"Excellent," Ron said feverishly, piling his plate with mashed potatoes. "The house elves haven't banded up with You-Know-Who then. Though, if I were him, I wouldn't want that crazy lot anyway."

"That's not funny, Ron," said Hermione, who had always nursed a soft spot for house elves. "But that new professor, Jones, she's in the Order, isn't she?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Listen, I think I'm going to have a talk with McGonagall at the end of the feast."

"Good idea, Harry," Hermione said approvingly. "I wonder who McGonagall assign as Head Boy and Head Girl instead of us, though. It had better not be that Parkinson girl."

"Don't you feel a bit sorry for her, though?" Harry said in mock sympathy, staring over to the Slytherin table where Pansy sat huddled between a group of Slytherin girls and Blaise Zabini.

"I wonder how Crabbe and Goyle are holding up, though," Ron said, as he stabbed a piece of turkey with his knife.

"I expect old Voldemort's made them Deatheaters just like Draco," Harry said bitterly, eating the last of his pot roast.

"Those two?" joined in Ginny, seating herself beside Harry. "If _they _were the new generation of Deatheaters, I'd say we have nothing to worry about."

Harry choked on his broccoli. "We?"

"Yeah, we," Ginny said, staring all three of them down, "don't think that _I_ won't ever be of any use."

"We don't mean it that way, Gin," Hermione said gently. "Maybe if - "

"Harry turns into a headless parrot," Ron finished, his ears turning red. "It's too dangerous, Ginny, you can't come with us."

"Oh really, Ronald?" said Ginny pointedly. "I didn't say I _wanted_ to come. But, you know, there are a few _dozen_ people in this school that are dying to help you, so don't act like you three just _have_ to operate alone." The rest of Gryffindor was now looking rather intently upon them, some nodding in agreement.

Harry looked determinedly at his empty plate. "I think I'll go talk to McGonagall now, then."

"Oh," Hermione said, forgetting their original purpose. "Right, I'll come with you."

Ron seemed unable to escape his younger sister's glare. "Er … me too … McGonagall."

The three rushed wildly over to the staff table, in a manner rather undignified for seventh years. McGonagall, who always disapproved of such behavior, raised a questioning eyebrow as Ron nearly tripped on his own robes. "Sorry, Professor, er, Headmistress," Harry said, as McGonagall took bite-sized bites from her pumpkin pie.

"Yes, Potter?" McGonagall said, peering at the three of them throw her square spectacles.

"I made arrangements, kind of, with, er … Dumbledore, last term," Harry said, trying to ignore the fact that Dumbledore was no longer around.

"Yes, Potter, Albus did inform of these items before he left," McGonagall said wearily. Harry was almost sure that he saw the slightest hint of a tear in the corner of her eye.

"And er, that means, I suppose, that Hermione and I will have to turn in our badges," said Harry, taking his badge out of his robes. Hermione made strangled noise, as though she wasn't quite ready to part with her badge yet.

"We will discuss that matter later," McGonagall said. "I want you three to first be settled in your dorms. You will meet me tomorrow morning at eight o' clock in my office. The password will be Feraverto" The finality in her voice told Harry that their brief conversation was over. He, Ron, and Hermione returned to their seats while half the student population looked on eagerly.

The scene in the Gryffindor common room was somewhat more somber and empty than it had been in previous years. Most of the students retreated to their dormitories without a word, though some lingered quietly in the common room, as though hoping to have a word with Harry themselves. The next morning, after Ron shook Harry awake, the three gathered in the Gryffindor common room at ten till eight to make their way to McGonagall's office. "Will she be in Dumbledore's office, now?" Hermione said uncertainly, as she lifted up the portrait hole with some difficulty (the Fat Lady was still snoring).

"I suppose," Harry shrugged. It would be very strange to see the office inhabited by anyone but Dumbledore. What Harry feared most, however, was seeing Dumbledore's portrait on the wall- a true confirmation that he had passed away. Harry led the way to the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the headmaster's office. "Feraverto," he muttered, signaling for Ron and Hermione to join him on the stairs.

McGonagall's office was surprisingly similar to Dumbledore's, though noticeably neater. Dumbledore's portrait, along with those of the other past headmasters and headmistresses, slept soundly against the wall. "Professor McGonagall?" Hermione said, calling out timidly into the void. An orange cat that had been sleeping on the chair disappeared, and was replaced by a wide-awake McGonagall.

"Very well, Ms. Granger," said McGonagall. "I was just talking to Professor Jones and Professor Flitwick about the appropriate charm for the three of you." Jones and Flitwick emerged from the back of the room, both smiling benevolently at them. "We believe that the Imernia Charm will do, for our purposes."

"Oh!" Hermione said, looking distinctly impressed. Harry and Ron, not wishing to look entirely stupid, nodded tentatively.

"As you may know," Professor McGonagall said, though she seemed to think that Harry and Ron did not know, "the Imernia Charm is a complex spell that allows one to call for assistance merely by thinking."

Professor Flitwick nodded excitedly, squeaking, "I'll also add an extra piece that will summon assistance should anyone be knocked out."

"Not that it will happen, of course," Professor Jones added kindly.

"Right," Harry said, slightly relieved that he would not be empty-handed.

"One of you must merely spell out in your mind 'Help me' and the nearest seven members of the Order will Apparate immediately. Unfortunately, it is one time use only, but I believe that will be sufficient in itself." McGonagall instructed. "Now, if you will please stand here, Professor Flitwick will cast the charm."

Harry nodded cautiously, stepping forward. "_Imernia Imotasia,_" Flitwick squealed, waving his wand in a rather complicated manner. Harry felt a tingling sensation, which disappeared as quickly as it had come.

"Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger, please," McGonagall said. Harry watched as the charm was performed two more times. "As wizarding adults, I expect you to behave as such. Potter, I understand that Albus has already informed you of the mission." Harry nodded. "Very well. I wish you all good luck."

"Please, Professor," Hermione said, raising her hand. "Harry and I still haven't turned in our badges."

"Oh," McGonagall said, her eyebrows rising again. "You may keep those. I daresay you'll need something to remind you of Hogwarts." A moment later, she, Professor Flitwick, and Professor Jones were gone.

"Is that it, then?" Ron said, staring around at the empty office. "So, where are we going, again?"


	4. Godric's Hollow

_Title: A Return to Normalcy  
__Author: Noiri  
__Rating: T  
__Genre: Action/Adventure/Humor  
__Pairings: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Hermione/Tom (AKA Voldemort)  
__Summary: Old age is accompanied by a slew of medical complications that even the Dark Lord is not immune to. In a fit of discomfort, Voldemort finds a brilliant solution with startling consequences.  
__Disclaimer: Not mine.  
__A/N: Voldemort and Hermione in the same scene. Finally. It's moving slowly, I know. _

**Chapter 4: Godric's Hollow**

After much debilitation, it was decided later in the day that Harry, Ron, and Hermione would travel to Godric's Hollow by Floo powder. McGonagall noted that the house was still connected to the Floo Network, although she really had no idea who lived there.

"So," Harry began tentatively, "there could be muggles there?"

"Yes, Potter, that may very well be," McGonagall replied impatiently. "I must also impress upon you the danger associated with your task. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may have already sent Deatheaters to the house, though I find that very unlikely." Harry nodded. Just fantastic. He stepped into the fire in McGonagall's office, shouting "Godric's Hollow!" with marked apprehension. A moment later, he found himself in an empty living room. Upon surveying, the furniture, Harry concluded that Godric's Hollow was indeed inhabited by muggles, and rather messy ones at that.

"Wow," Ron breathed, as he too stumbled out of the fireplace, "what kind of neat blokes are these?"

"Oh!" Hermione gasped. "We have the same couches at our house!"

"Well," Ron said in mock thought, "Couches. That'll help us, it will. Any special properties?"

"Don't be stupid, Ron," said Hermione briskly. "It's obviously a muggle home. You would know, you know, if you'd taken Muggle Studies." Ron grumbled something about being sarcastic, and then proceeded to follow Harry around the house.

"There," Harry said, stopping suddenly at the front door. "It happened here." Harry found himself resembling a muggle detective in the mystery movies, scaling the walls and floors for clues.

A familiar voice resounded behind him. "Well done, Potter, five points to Gryffindor."

Before Harry could catch a glimpse of the face (and he had quite a notion of who it was), Hermione had yelled "_Stupefy_!" causing the figure to crumple in a heap. Ron hurried over to the body, prodding at the hood with his wand.

"Well, that's the second time we've knocked Snape out," Ron said grimly.

"Snape?" Harry could feel the fury and confusion rise within him as he strode over, his wand pointed outward in a menacing fashion. He wanted to say "Let's kill him now!" but all he could manage was, "How?"

"I dunno," said Ron, appraising the heap with a thoughtful sort of look. "You reckon You-Know-Who sent him here?"

"But how could he _know_?" Hermione said, her eyes drawn back at the sight of their former Potions master and Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"We'll figure that out later," Harry said savagely. "I expect he'll be sending more of the Deatheaters here in a moment, once he's figured out how badly old Snape has done."

"Fantastic," Ron said faintly. "Would this be a good time to think for help, then?"

"Ron, we've been here for five minutes," Harry said, a trace of irritation in his voice.

"Thirty-five minutes, Harry," Hermione added.

"Oh, all right, I suppose that we could - "

Ron and Hermione, however, did not find out what Harry was supposing. Before either of them could raise their wands, the front door had blown open. For one wild moment, Harry thought that the muggles had come home, but a second later he recognized the tall dark cloaks of the Deatheaters. The one at the front had a smooth, unwrinkled hand. In one flick of his wand, Ron and Hermione law sprawled on the floor, barely breathing, and Harry was hit against the wall. _Help_, Harry thought, concentrating all of his strength on the four-letter word. His legs felt broken beneath him. _Help_. Nothing happened.

"Do you really believe, Potter," said the man at the front, stepping gingerly over Snape's body, "that I could not predict your every move? The worthless charms that your professors lavished upon you, which I have already broken so easily? Really, Potter, your professors overestimate you." Harry gritted his teeth. Who _was_ this new Deatheater? It couldn't be … "Oh, but it is, Potter," the figure said maliciously, lowering his hood.

Harry stared. If Ron and Hermione had been awake, Harry was sure that they would have been staring as well. It was Tom Riddle. _No_, Harry thought, _Voldemort_. Yet he looked exactly like Tom Riddle. Hadn't the horcrux been destroyed? _Help_, Harry thought again.

"_ENNERVATE_!" shouted a voice from the fireplace. Voldemort whirled around to see Remus Lupin, followed by a host of Order members, emerge from the hearth.

Voldemort stopped momentarily. "Don't move!" he snarled, holding out his wand threateningly. For a moment, the whole room was at a standstill.

"You're outnumbered!" Lupin said, not putting down his wand. Half a dozen more wizards appeared in the fireplace.

"Try," Voldemort countered, his voice seething. "Try and destroy me. You know you can't!"

"You're acting like a child!" shouted Kingsley, a member of the Order. He held his hand above the rest of the wizards, motioning them not to strike. Unfortunately, at that moment a whole lot of Ministry Aurors arrived, accompanied by Rufus Scrimgeour.

"You-Know-Who!" one of them shrieked. Before Kingsley could stop them, a dozen of the Aurors had shot a jumble of spells at Voldemort, who succeeded in blocking all of them.

"I only want the boy!" Voldemort said in fury. _Only the boy_, Harry thought. _Only me_. Suddenly, Harry had an outlandish idea. Surely, Voldemort would be Disapparating soon, just as he had escaped from the Ministry of Magic in Harry's fifth year. Harry moved his body slightly and maintained a loose grip on Voldemort's robes. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice.

"The Deatheaters!" Scrimgeour cried from behind, beckoning the Aurors forward with a sweep of his large arm. The whole band rushed ahead, leaving the Order members in their wake.

"Rufus!" Kingsley shouted, trying to rise above the din. For once, Kingsley's words went unheeded. The Deatheaters did not move, even with the Aurors rushing at them, their wands held above their heads like torches. Harry felt one of them trample over his leg. Spells were shot at all angles, and Harry found himself losing consciousness. He shook his leg involuntarily. Someone was holding on to his leg, and that someone refused to let go. _Get off my leg_, Harry thought lazily, as his mind turned black. _Get off my leg_.

When Harry woke, he half expected to find himself in the hospital wing. Instead, he lay sideways in a slightly uncomfortable bed. Harry rolled over and found a body next to him. "Hermione!" Harry whispered fiercely, prodding at his unconscious friend with his finger. Hermione did not need telling twice. She snapped up like a twig, with a disoriented look on her face.

"Harry, where _are_ we?" she said, her voice trembling.

"Voldemort's headquarters, I expect. I think I Apparated along with him, I was holding on to his leg."

"Oh, Harry, I'm so _stupid_! I was holding on to _your_ leg! I thought it was Ron's, I was trying to wake him up!"

"What I'm wondering right now, though," said Harry in a low whisper, "is why they haven't had us both killed off yet."

"Can we get out of here?"

"I doubt it," Harry said uncertainly. He rapped on the nearest window, only to find the surface protected by some sort of enchantment. His hand bounced off like a rubber ball. "Weird though, how Voldemort goes to such trouble to keep his dungeons all nice like this." Suddenly, Harry heard a rustle from behind the door. He pulled his wand out instinctively. "_STUPEFY_!" The door blasted open and someone on the other side crumpled.

"Harry!" Hermione said fretfully. "What are you _doing_?"

"I expect this is Pettigrew," Harry said, walking over and pushing away the door. Sure enough, a round man's crumpled frame lay on the ground in a fetal position. Harry kicked the body for good measure. "Let's get out of here," Harry said, motioning for Hermione to join him.

The next room seemed to be for storage purposes only. A number of books lay on the shelves, and several cupboards were placed awkwardly against the walls. Harry flung open one of the cupboards out of curiosity, only to find … "It's a pensieve," Harry said in wonder. "You don't suppose Voldemort could have any of his memories in here, could he?"

"Harry," Hermione said, "I really don't think we should be touching this." She poked the bowl's surface timidly with her wand.

"Hermione, don't - " Harry started. The next thing he knew, both of them were falling headfirst into a void. They landed feet first on a hard wooden floor. Harry looked around, finding the room's style and decorations familiar. It was Tom Riddle's orphanage.

A nice-looking, black-haired boy who looked to be three or four years old sat alone in a corner next to a bookshelf, reading a rather thick novel. The entire room was filled with playing children, most of who were running around or banging on the walls. "You're stupid!" a blonde haired boy said, as he ran past the boy in the corner. "You can't read! Stop pretending! Liar!" The black-haired boy didn't move.

"Where are we?" Hermione said, looking at the room in bewilderment. She tried to stop one of the children from running around, but with no success. Harry put a finger to his lips, indicating for her to be quiet. Here was a prime opportunity to learn more about Voldemort's past.

Another boy came over and yanked the book out of the young Voldemort's hands. Still, Voldemort did not move. He merely picked up another book from the bookshelf and continued reading, though one could see the unmistakable fury and anger etched into his toddler-like face. Out of nowhere, a third boy joined in, kicking at the bookshelf and spilling all of Voldemort's precious books over the floor. Suddenly, a tall, stern-looking woman walked in. "Tom!" she said, looking in horror at the books strewn over the floor. "Put those back right now!"

"Yes, ma'am," Tom Riddle replied obediently. He cleaned up the books and straightened them on their shelves. Some of the children snickered, while the others looked frightened. A moment later, Harry and Hermione found themselves standing in the storage room again. Someone's wand poked Harry painfully in the back.

"Interesting, aren't they?" a cold voice said from behind, paralyzing Harry and Hermione from the neck down. "I show my gracious hospitality by sparing your lives, and you repay me by going through my memories? I thought Gryffindors were brave and honorable."

"Wormtail," Voldemort said, muttering a spell at the unconscious man. "You failed miserably in your task of guarding Potter and his girlfriend."

"Sorry, my lord," squeaked Pettigrew, scrambling to his feet. "Sorry, sorry, my most kind lord."

"Get out," Voldemort said irritably. "Potter and Granger will follow me." He levitated Harry and Hermione into the air, taking them down a brightly lit corridor and into a large and spacious living room.

"Well, aren't you two feeling clever," Voldemort spat, plopping Harry and Hermione on a pair of couches. "Tell me, Potter, whatever gave you the abysmally stupid idea of following me back?"

Harry stared at Voldemort wordlessly, the image of the young Tom Riddle still in his mind. Trying to ignore the pangs of sympathy, he shot back, "I didn't know you would be so cowardly to retreat."

"Retreat?" Voldemort laughed, though it sounded more like a snort. "You were both knocked out at the time. Don't try to assume anything you don't know, Potter." Harry stood his ground, still baffled by the oddity of the situation. Here he was, having an almost normal conversation with Voldemort, with Hermione standing right next to him- and in Voldemort's home, no less. Furthermore, Voldemort looked nothing like the serpentine skeleton he had been the previous year. (Hermione attested to this observation by reddening slightly every time Voldemort spoke.) Something was horribly wrong. "Yes, Potter," Voldemort said coldly, not noticing that Hermione existed at all, "something _is_ wrong. You might be wondering, for example, why I haven't killed both of you off yet. Let me assure you, I have no qualms of doing so. But I daresay that your … caretakers … have put quite a number of enchantments on you."

Harry was baffled. Enchantments other than _Imernia Imotasia_? Enchantments that kept Voldemort from killing him? Why hadn't they done it years ago? He threw a sideways glance at Hermione, who seemed to be piecing the information together with a look of sheer concentration on her face. "Oh, of course!" she said, raising her hand. Voldemort stared at her. "They've made it so that if either of us dies, they can find our location immediately!" She looked expectantly back at Voldemort, as though expecting him to award Gryffindor some house points.

Voldemort looked mildly impressed. "Most astute of your … little girlfriend, Potter," he said, smiling slightly.

"She's not my girlfriend," Harry said irritably. "Why can no one ever get that straight?"

Voldemort laughed his brief, cold laugh again. "I don't particularly like to hear the social problems of whining teenagers, Potter."

"Shut up," Harry said irritably. "You look and sound like a teenager yourself."

"You are beautiful, master!" Pettigrew squealed from the doorway. Voldemort batted his hand at Pettigrew, causing the round man to hit the wall and roll down the hallway. Harry, however, had clearly hit a nerve. There was a minimal amount of color rising in Voldemort's pale face.

"Wormtail," Voldemort called coldly, "kindly put Potter and his _girlfriend_ in separate rooms." Peter Pettigrew scrambled up and grabbed both Harry and Hermione with his grimy arms, leading them up the stairs. As soon as they reached the top floor, however, Harry shook Pettigrew away and locked him in a closet.

"Harry!" Hermione hissed, pulling him aside. "What's going _on_?"

"Listen," Harry said, trying to catch his breath. "Voldemort can't - "

"_That_ was Voldemort?"

"Yes, it was. Now, he can't kill us, because it would reveal the location of his house, right? But we can still kill _him_!"

"Wait, Harry, that's rubbish. Why does Voldemort care if the Ministry finds out where his house is? He can just move, can't he?"

Harry paused. Come to think of it, was it that big of a deal if McGonagall and the others discovered Voldemort's house? "I suppose that's probably not the reason, then," Harry said, feeling slightly less spirited.

"And Harry," Hermione whispered, pulling Harry towards the ground, "what's happened to him? I mean he's nearly sixty years old, isn't he?"

"Yeah," Harry said, scanning the ground floor and wishing that he had a pair of Extendable Ears, "that bit's fishy too."

"He must have made his own potion," Hermione said thoughtfully, "because reverse-aging potions are highly expensive on the market, and I don't suppose he could just walk into a store and buy one."

"Yeah," Harry said again, motioning for Hermione to be quiet. Honestly, there were more important things to be dealt with than contemplating Voldemort's latest cosmetic breakthroughs. After checking the closet to make sure that Wormtail had not escaped, Harry pressed his ear to the hard stone floor. Voldemort's voice resonated faintly from a room far away, sounding distinctly angry, to Harry's satisfaction. Harry could barely make out what Voldemort was saying, but he seemed to be scolding Snape and cursing some sort of enchantment that he had previously set on the house. _Serves Snape right_, Harry thought, thinking fondly back to the scene in Godric's Hollow. Snape was evidently in the fireplace, because Harry could only hear one pair of footsteps, and he was pretty sure they belonged to Voldemort, who seemed to be pacing the floor. Everything pointed towards the idea that Voldemort was keeping them hostage so as not to disclose the location of his house … yet something didn't quite fit in Harry's mind.

"Of _course_," Hermione said, rising from the stone floor. "Voldemort must be keeping something valuable here, _that's_ why he doesn't want anyone else to figure out where his house his. I bet he's made it unplottable, and put all sorts of enchantments on it, just like Hogwarts. And only he can Apparate in here, unless he gives permission to others. I bet he never thought of side-along Apparition."

"Something valuable?" Harry said skeptically. _Something valuable_. "A horcrux."

"Oh!" Hermione gasped, though she was quickly shushed by Harry. "I _can't _believe I didn't see that! It fits, too!"

"Yeah," Harry said, quite amazed that they had been able to figure out anything at all. "Well, I suppose we'd better start searching, then."


	5. The Unwelcome Guests

_Title: A Return to Normalcy  
__Author: Noiri  
__Rating: T  
__Genre: Action/Adventure/Humor  
__Pairings: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Hermione/Tom (AKA Voldemort)  
__Summary: Old age is accompanied by a slew of medical complications that even the Dark Lord is not immune to. In a fit of discomfort, Voldemort finds a brilliant solution with startling consequences.  
__Disclaimer: Not mine.  
__A/N: Yes! Voldemort/Tom and Hermione alone in the same room! Stockholm Syndrome in reverse! Took me long enough…_

**Chapter 5: The Unwelcome Guests**

How long Harry lay crouched by the staircase, he did not know. There was something in air of Voldemort's home. Voldemort himself, it seemed, lived on absolutely nothing. Harry could hear someone talking, muttering, or otherwise pacing the floor all afternoon. Harry's ear had melded nicely with the stone floor, and every once in a while Harry turned his head to make sure that Hermione was still there. The air had grown insufferably thick by dinnertime (Harry's stomach was growling). He had half a mind to get up and ask Voldemort for supper, but thought better of it. _I must be breathing in toxins_, Harry though dully, as he felt himself dozing off.

For the second time that week, Harry awoke with very little notion of where he was. Someone had apparently found him and Hermione, and placed them in separate rooms. To Harry's dismay, the room he woke up in was not nearly as nice in the room from the previous day. The air, no longer thick, was now cold and uninviting. Harry dragged himself from a hard plank (he assumed that it was meant to be a bed) and made for the door. Of course, Voldemort had locked it. _"Alohomora_," Harry muttered, pointing his wand at the uncooperative doorknob. Instead of the familiar click he expected, the door decided to seal itself completely into the wall, so that Harry could not even see light between the cracks. Instantaneously, Peter Pettigrew appeared in Harry's room. "Voldemort still trusts you?" Harry spat with disbelief. Wormtail's face contorted, though he seemed unable to voice a response. "Remus was right," Harry said, suddenly savoring his time alone with the traitor. "I should've just let them finish you off in 3rd year. Not to worry, though, I'm sure Voldemort will kill you soon. It's only a matter of time before he sees how you fail at everything you do." Harry raised his wand in a slightly threatening manner, too tired and hopeless to care about the consequences.

"Wait!" Wormtail said, sounding very much like a rat again. "Harry Potter, I regret my … past actions!"

"Do you?" Harry said coldly, satisfied with Wormtail's vulnerable position. "Then tell me what Voldemort is planning to do with us!" He jabbed his wand violently into Wormtail's large neck.

"I … I … don't know," squeaked Pettigrew.

"Liar!" Harry pushed Wormtail against the wall, hoping that Voldemort would not burst through the door. Wormtail tried, unsuccessfully, to grab Harry's wand with his silver hand.

"The Dark Lord …" Wormtail choked out, "does not tell me his plans …"

"Oh, right," Harry said, loosening his grip. "He wouldn't be that thick to tell someone worthless like you everything he wanted to do." Despite Harry's efforts to arouse Pettigrew's anger, however, the round man remained as cowardly looking and shaky as before. "Then where's Hermione?" Pettigrew paled. He put his hand to his mouth, chewing furiously on his fingernails. Beneath the chatter, Harry thought he made out the words "Lucius", "Dolohov", and "dealing". Harry's mind raced. _Dealing_? _But where?_ He pressed his wand pointedly into Pettigrew's neck. "Tell me," said Harry, trying to sound calm, "Where she _is_."

"N- Next door … near …" Wormtail squealed. Harry breathed. So Voldemort had not taken her to some underground torture chamber. _Now_, Harry thought _it's time to break out_. Harry kicked futilely at the melded door, which was about as helpful as kicking any other place in the foot-thick walls. "Argh!" He shot a glance at Wormtail, whose behind seemed glued to the opposite wall, his eyes darting at every crack in the ceiling. "No help, are you? Useless, useless," Harry growled. Harry took out his wand again. "_Reducto!_" Nothing. "_Alohomora!_" The doorknob jingled, but the door remained encapsulated in the wall. "_Incendio!_ _Ignus Imasia!_" The door refused to so much as even budge. Harry pondered for a while. Parseltongue, perhaps, might help. "_Open up, you stupid door!_" Harry hissed, waving his wand furiously.

While Harry performed verbal acrobatics and all sorts of nonexistent magic on the stubborn door, Hermione was being terrified out of her wits. Though, of course, she didn't want Lucius Malfoy and the two other Deatheaters to get wind of that. Hermione wasn't sure if the whole lot of Deatheaters were really covert perverts with dissatisfying sex lives. Indeed, Lucius Malfoy had a certain penchant for women's bottoms, which he had demonstrated so well at the Quidditch World Cup before Hermione's fourth year with poor Mrs. Roberts. Currently Hermione found herself hanging upside-down, her feet a few inches from the ceiling. To prevent blood from rushing to her head, Hermione did occasional sit-up-like jerks.

"Ha!" Dolohov pointed at Hermione, doubling over in laughter. With a flick of his wand, he conjured a fire that barely singed the tips of Hermione's hair.

"You horrible people!" Hermione screeched. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Now, now, my little Mudblood," Lucius said amusedly, "I wouldn't waste my energy shouting if I were you." As it happened, Voldemort had finally stopped pacing the ground floor and come to inspect his Deatheaters at this time.

"Really," Voldemort said, surveying the scene calmly, "why do I have three of you guarding this girl and only Wormtail on Potter?" Crabbe blushed. Voldemort stared. Hermione dropped in a pile on the floor. "Do you have nothing better to do? Get out!" Lucius muttered an apology, and led Dolohov and Crabbe out of the room. Hermione didn't know whether she should be relieved or even more frightened. She tried to get up, massaging her sore back.

"Stay where you are," Voldemort said monotonously, raising his wand. Hermione blanched. This was it. The end. She tried to stand up, to escape, but all she managed to do was collapse on the floor. "_Medicorpus_." Hermione looked up at Voldemort strangely. That certainly wasn't Avada Kedavra, and she wasn't dying either. On the contrary, she felt her spine straighten out and warmth spreading all the way to her fingertips. Hermione stood up, rather shaken, and retrieved her wand from her pocket. No such luck. "You won't be needing that," Voldemort said abruptly. Hermione's wand flew into his outstretched hand. "I've been waiting for a long time to talk to you," Voldemort said, surveying Hermione up and down. "I've heard you have the best marks of your year. Impressive. Not many people know that I was the brightest of Hogwarts too, in my day." Hermione nodded mutely. Perhaps if she didn't say anything rude or incriminating, Voldemort would decide not to turn her into a heap of lifeless ash. "Of course, I've heard all of this from Lucius," said Voldemort calmly, "he knows quite a lot about your little school, Potter's plans - "

"I'm not going to tell you anything," Hermione interrupted, her gaze now raised to match Voldemort's.

"I didn't ask," Voldemort sneered. "You think I depend on Lucius Malfoy for all of my information? No, I know myself exactly what you're all planning. I know your dear old Headmaster's told Potter all about me." Hermione remained silent. "Or at least," Voldemort smiled slightly, "all that he knows." Hermione shivered involuntarily. Suddenly, she heard someone pounding on a door a little way down the corridor. "Ah," Voldemort said, a foreign smile spreading across his features, "Potter's trying to escape." Hermione started to run. Harry needed _help_. "Don't run," said Voldemort simply, "it's no use." Indeed, it was no use. The door closed before Hermione could reach it and the edges melded together with the surrounding wall.

"You… monster!" Hermione sputtered, having finally lost her temper. "What are you doing, keeping us in here? You're not allowed to! And if you're not going to kill us, then why don't you let us out!"

_Not allowed to, _thought Voldemort incredulously. Did this girl think he was even slightly concerned with abiding by wizarding law? In any case, pure intimidation seemed futile. (_Partially_, pondered Voldemort, _because I look her age_.) Ah well. It was time to try his old approach. Voldemort features changed immediately. In a moment, he changed from being a raving homicidal lunatic (in Hermione's eyes) to a young polite butler. The change scared Hermione. "I'm sorry, would you like some supper?" Voldemort asked innocently, as though nothing had happened.

_He's gone senile_, Hermione realized. _Absolutely mad_. "Yes, I would, thank you," said Hermione, composing herself and attempting to flatten her unruly hair. _Better watch out for poison_.

Voldemort smiled to himself as he blasted open the door and led Hermione downstairs. Good-hearted people were so easy to tamper with.

And as Hermione cautiously nibbled at a possibly toxic array of foods with her best friend's arch nemesis, and while Harry shouted about in his makeshift prison cell, other members of the Order and Hogwarts faculty were trying to locate just where they had gone.

"They're still alive," Flitwick said half-heartedly, as a meeting commenced in McGonagall's office.

"Yes, but where?" McGonagall said, pursing her lips. "They could be anywhere."

"Ron's said that he just saw them disappear. Like they Apparated," said Mr. Weasley.

"Is it possible," Kingsley Shacklebolt said, "they Apparated along with Voldemort? Back to his headquarters?"

"I wasn't aware that Voldemort had any headquarters," McGonagall said.

"Sure would be useful," Mundungus Fletcher interrupted, "if, you know, we 'ad someone on the other side."

McGonagall faltered. "Has anyone contacted Severus?"

"No," Moody said gruffly, "but we damn should."

"Well he made it pretty clear which side he was on, didn't he?" Mr. Weasley said.

"I wouldn't put it to Dumbledore," Moody said, bulldozing on, "to come up with some elaborate plan. We don't know all the _facts_!"

"Yeah," said Hagrid, accidentally sitting on Professor Flitwick, "Mad-Eye's right. Dumbledore 'as too great, too great ter' be finished off by some greasy-haired - "

"Thank you, Hagrid," McGonagall said briskly. "Very well, we need someone to act as an envoy to Snape, apologize and make amends."

"'Pologize?" Hagrid roared. "Don' apologize ter' him!"

"Snape may be holding much valuable information. It would be in our best interest to bring him back as soon as possible," said McGonagall, fixing everyone in the room with a beady glare.

"I'll go," Lupin said, raising his hand half-heartedly.

"Oh, Remus," Mrs. Weasley said, "don't be ridiculous, Severus hates you."

"Be that as it may," continued Lupin wearily. "I believe those personal problems need some clearing up as well."


End file.
